Don't Forget to Twist and Diffuse
by GoldenVine
Summary: Molly helps Sherlock clean up after the fall, his wounds but mainly his hair. Mmm, his hair.


**A/N - *peaks round the corner* Hi! I haven't posted in ages, I do apologise, I really do. I will update Memories Fading, I have it planned out but I also have exams and stuff, ugh life sucks. READ SHERLOLLY IT MAKES LIFE BETTER. Anyway, I'll let you read, this is a mixture of genres and about the ending...I had to. Enjoy!**

"Umm…I'm sorry about the mess. I've been meaning to…decorate it. I mean, the tiles aren't really my style at all, but I like the claw-footed bath and well, when it's only me here I…"

"Molly, you are rambling." Sherlock groaned as he painfully set himself down on the rim of Molly's bathtub.

"Oh, right…sorry." Molly apologised as she busied herself readying supplies. It had been 3 hours since the fall and she needed to be professional. _Yes, be professional Molly. You are a professional and he is your patient and he has taken his shirt off. No need to stare._

Molly couldn't help but stare a little at Sherlock's alabaster skin. His face was contorted into a grimace and she knew for a fact that 3 of his ribs were cracked, maybe even broken. She had helped him with the fall but he would still be hurt, physically if not otherwise. There was no easy way to fix him but she supposed trying to fix him medically would be a start – she would deal with the rest when the bridge needed to be crossed.

She took Sherlock's shirt from his hand and folded it neatly, laying it with care on the toilet seat lid, "It's a shame about your clothes. They'll all need to be binned," she voiced timidly, "I really liked that coat."

The coat had been the worst. When she had left it in the morgue she felt like she was leaving a part of him behind. She sighed again and turned round to begin work. He was extremely lucky; nothing serious was broken. She would bind his ribs and clean up that cut on his head, maybe a few stitches and some painkillers. He would be fine. Yes, he would be fine. She would make sure of it.

"Molly?" he mumbled quietly.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"It hurts." He replied through gritted teeth.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll bind your ribs and sort out that cut on your head for you. I have painkillers as well."

"No."

Molly was taken aback. Did he not want her help? "Sorry, what?"

"That's not what I meant." He intoned darkly.

Oh, of course. He was hurting inside and she didn't know what to do. A cuddle and a pat on the back was hardly going to cover this. He'd lost everything. His friends thought him dead. In fact the whole world thought him dead. But, how do you console a dead man? Words were not her area, or so she had been told, but they were all she had.

"I know Sherlock. It's going to hurt for a long time but one day…one day you'll come back and then it won't hurt anymore," she paused wanting to pick her words carefully, "You've lost a lot Sherlock but Ji- sorry, Moriarty, will lose more. _Has_ lost more." She started to wind the stretch bandage carefully around his bruised ribs, "He lost his life." She secured the bandage in place, "He will lose his web, everything he worked for. I know you will destroy it." She stood up straight and looked him in the eyes with a courage she did not know she could muster, "And he lost the game. You won Sherlock, you won." _And I love you, _she added silently.

"Do you believe in me that much, Molly Hooper?" he asked quickly.

"Yes, of course I do."

"Thank you." He said bowing his head. His head was pounding and he did want to deal with any of _those _emotions right now. He couldn't dig them up, not at a time like this.

"Uh, it's ok." Molly stammered as she saw Sherlock's head dip slightly, "hey Sherlock?"

"Mmm." Sherlock blinked. The adrenaline coursing through his body was rapidly running out and waves of tiredness were sweeping over him.

"Are you tired?"

Sherlock nodded languidly and started to lean forwards a bit.

"Nope ,not here, " Molly stepped forward and caught him by the shoulders, "Sherlock Holmes you are not sleeping until I've washed your hair and cleaned that cut. I didn't get all the blood out at the morgue before we had to leave."

Sherlock groaned and opened his eyes slightly, "Now?"

"Yes now. Look just sit down here and lean back." Molly propped Sherlock up against the side of her bathtub and manoeuvred his head over the edge of the tub. Placing a towel under his neck, she didn't want to add a sore neck to his list of complaints, she reached up and pulled her shower head down turning the knob to hot before setting it in the bath. She gently teased Sherlock's matted locks as he shut his eyes again. _Good, _she thought, _this will be a lot easier if he's not staring at me._ She then wet his hair slightly and squirted a blob of her expensive shampoo onto her palm. Working it into his hair was harder than she had thought it would be. His hair was thick with tangles and knots that she gently and patiently teased out, careful not to pull to hard and avoiding the small cut just on the left of his forehead. She used this time to check the cut as well, it wouldn't need stitches but she might put gauze over it anyway.

She lathered up his scalp and took more time than she really needed to wind her hands through his curls. She wasn't really taking advantage because he was asleep anyway and she just wanted to let him rest. Of course it helped that his hair was so lavish and thick and so utterly soft - it was like threading her hand through silk. She enjoyed watching the way the water droplets would curve and swirl their way down a curl before dripping slowly off the end.

When the bathroom was sufficiently steamed up she decided it was about time that she switched the shower off and dried his hair with a towel. She patted his cut dry, cleaned it with an antiseptic wipe and grabbed a piece of gauze taping it securely over the cut and being careful not to trap one of his unruly curls. She wrapped an arm under his shoulders and eased him up to his feet. He was awake enough to stumble, drifting between sleep and slight consciousness, which made it easier for Molly to shove him in the right direction. She opted for just lying him in her bed on top of the duvet, he wasn't the only one who was tired and her room was closer than the living room. She threw an old hand-knitted throw over him and took off his shoes before tip-toeing out of her room and shutting the door carefully.

She crept through to the living room and settled on her cheap IKEA couch. _He'd be too long for the couch anyways, _she thought before drifting off to sleep trying to forget about the day's events and the lurch and churn of her stomach at the thought of tomorrow.

Molly Hooper was pulled from sleep abruptly at 4:37 am on the day after the fall by a loud, booming and most definitely annoyed voice coming from her bathroom, "YOU DID NOT TWIST AND DIFFUSE!"

_Twist and diffuse? What? _In her not-quite-awake state a very groggy Molly Hooper trudged through to her bathroom and almost fell over from shock. Sherlock Holmes did not look like himself at all, in fact his hair was doing a fantastic impression of Tina Turner in her younger days. Molly almost fell over laughing and didn't even notice when Sherlock stormed past her and slammed her bedroom door in a huff.

Hence, since that day Molly Hooper will always remember to 'twist and diffuse.'

**A note from the review button - So, GV hasn't been on in a while and I'd appreciate it if you pressed me and left her a little review? Please? All are welcome! I make great cookies...**


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